


a fate deserved

by queenegeria



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: 5+1 Things, Character Death, Gen, i do not like him, nicaise is in this if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 11:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15338508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenegeria/pseuds/queenegeria
Summary: five times the regent dies and one time he still dies





	a fate deserved

**Author's Note:**

> sucks to suck, y'all

i.

The Queen of Vere opened her eyes, fighting against the strain that came with four hours of labour. The King was there, at the foot of her bed, as well as the physicians and the throng of midwives, all in attendance to ensure her comfort. The Queen winced as she attempted to sit up straighter. She was not very comfortable.

“What is it?” she asked, voice hoarse. Her husband and the head physician were speaking in hushed tones, away from the others who were present. A sensation of panic swelled within her. The room was cleared of everyone except the two men, making the sensation all the more acute until a sole midwife returned, carrying a bundle.

They explained.

There had been two of them, they said, inside her womb. Both male. But one was weak and pathetic and did not survive the pregnancy. The other, however, thrived.  _ A new brother for Aleron,  _ she thought contentedly. A son who would make her proud, she was sure.

And she was right. For years later, the son turned out to be thoughtful and good hearted. A bit unambitious, really, but all was well. He cared for his family and wished only the best for his country, striving to honour the position he had been given at birth. He made a wonderful uncle to Aleron’s children, laughing with the two boys and always making sure to bring back gifts from the travels that occupied him throughout the years. Truly the uncle such kind people ought to have in their lives.

Sometimes, the Queen thought back to the day of her son’s birth and wondered… wondered what would have become of that other boy had he been the one to have lived.

But, oh well. She put it from her mind.

Such things had never come to pass.

ii.

“Did you get the footage, Steve?” Joe asked, biting into his breakfast burrito.

“Yeah,” Steve said, shrugging his coat off onto the chair of his desk. It was early in the morning still, and the precinct had yet to come to life. “The train station has CCTV cameras all over the place. It all checks out. Accidental death. Everyone important from the scene has been interviewed, and it looks like that’s all there was to it.”

Steve had gotten the recap last night. The victim was male, middle aged, with dark hair and blue eyes. Around 7pm on Thursday, he had been at the Batard station, terminal 3, probably on his commute. According to the video, at 7:06 a group of children walked past, coming home from an outing with their youth centre. One boy with curly hair was playing with a bouncy ball. In plain black and white, the video showed the ball rolling away, where, at 7:14, the victim would trip on it and fall onto the tracks.  The next train arrived at 7:15.

“Steve?” 

The police officer looked up to see Mary’s head peeking through the doorway. “I just got the call. Your train station guy’s been identified.”

“All clear?”

“All clear.”

“Thanks, Mary,” he said and slid the stack of files pertaining to the case towards him. A stamp was all it took to seal the deal.

“Poor fucker,” he muttered, and put the final nail in the coffin.

iii.

“You have my sincerest condolences, Auguste.”

Auguste smiled faintly as Damianos put a hand on his shoulder. To be quite honest, he did not know his uncle well enough to grieve for him. He was in death as he was in life: absent, off in one of his holdings instead of the palace, merely a signature on a correspondence from Chastillon. That was, after all, how they had received the news of his passing a few weeks ago.

But Damianos had a different understanding of family, and meant well, so Auguste nodded at him in thanks. He was not sure if a man from Akielos, where entire villages mourned the death of one man, would understand his lack of grief.

“I was surprised to hear of it,” he admitted. “I always understood my uncle to be a fine horseman.”

“Didn’t they say his horse was spooked?”

“Yes,” Auguste said. “A snake coming from the grass. He was bucked off and trampled underfoot.”

“I hope it did not cause him too much suffering.”

Auguste said nothing. The letter from the physician at Chastillon had mentioned his uncle’s many injuries and the hours it took for him to finally pass. There had been nothing they could do, and yet Auguste could not believe that the experience had been anything but excruciating. It did not bear much thinking about.

“Indeed,” he said finally, eager to change the subject. The sun was bright and he had a week of sports planned for the Akielons during their visit. There were far more pleasant things to occupy their time than thoughts of dead uncles. “Come on,” he grinned. “I believe you promised me a run for my money on today’s hunt, and my men have been looking forward to hearing your Akielon fables.”

As if summoned by the mention of fine storytelling, Auguste caught sight of Laurent, peeking around the side of a pruned shrub. On any other day, Auguste might have been willing to attribute the flush of his cheeks to the sun, but he could see very well what was attracting Laurent’s stare. His little brother ducked back into safety. 

Smiling to himself, Auguste changed course. “Actually, Damianos, we’ll have to postpone the sport. There’s someone I want you to meet first.”

iv.

It was a stray arrow, the messenger said, caught by the wind.

Auguste pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, inhaling sharply. In a war tent, with low morale, a death in the royal family was not a good thing. It was another problem to deal with, when it seemed like he had been doing nothing  _ but  _ dealing with problems since the Akielons invaded. Now, sitting down for the first time in hours, he felt that acutely. His muscles hurt from exertion. His leg hurt, where it had been slashed in battle. Most of all, his head hurt.

It had been a close call, he was beginning to understand. If the wind had not caught the arrow, it very well might have been his father, who had been riding closeby, who might have been struck.

If it had not been for the wind, Auguste might have found himself twenty five years old, and King.

“Your Highness?” said a new messenger, red-faced and filled with nerves.

“What is it?” If this man gave Auguste one more fire to put out, he could not be certain of the outcome.

“It’s the Akielons. They are offering a reprieve in light of the death of the King’s brother.”

It was then that Auguste noticed him, a candlestick of blond hair in the doorway. The messenger faded away. Laurent was definitely not where he was supposed to be, more specifically, not where Auguste had  _ told him to be,  _ but it mattered little right now. Laurent never did as he was told, whether it meant sneaking into the kitchens at night or standing in a strategy tent, listening to heavy news with young ears.

Auguste beckoned him closer. Laurent wrapped his arms around his waist tightly, shielding his face with Auguste’s chest.  _ We should have left him in Arles,  _ Auguste thought, not for the first time. War was not something Laurent needed to see at his age. The thought was futile, however, because the original plan  _ had  _ been to keep the youngest prince in the capital, away from danger - a plan doomed from the start. Auguste remembered the days of sulking and tantrums and sighed. There had never been any chance in hell of keeping Laurent from something once he set his mind to it.

He was glad he was here now. With their uncle cut down like a common soldier, both brothers were all too aware of their own mortality. How simple, how easy it was to rip a man away from his family forever.

Auguste looked up. “It was negotiations they wanted?” 

The messenger nodded.

“Tell my father we should take it.”

v.

Damen was silent, which was the first thing that told Laurent something was wrong. Damen was so rarely silent when they were together. He was always making conversation, spewing romantic nonsense. In more private settings, he was less silent still. Laurent poured him a glass of wine and took his seat across the table, limbs folded casually.

“Something on your mind?” he asked, and took a sip from his own glass.

“Your brother called, when you were out.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. He wanted to make sure you knew, before it hit the news.”

Of course he did. Auguste was considerate like that. Laurent couldn’t help but wonder what his brother thought of what Damen was about to tell him. He was not the type of man to suspect things from the people who gained his trust, but he was not blind. How could he be, with the family they were born into? The de Veres had as many hidden secrets as they had dollars in bank accounts, something that Laurent had very slowly come to understand, after unknowingly being shielded from it by Auguste for so many years. Even now, Laurent couldn’t be sure how much his brother knew, or of how much is brother was aware that Laurent knew himself.

Laurent brought his glass back up to his lips. It would all make a very good movie, he thought.

“He said he’d call again to tell you more, but this is the recap he gave me: your uncle is dead. It turns out he was involved in multiple circles of crime, including fraud and the sex trafficking of minors.” Damen’s lips grimaced around the words. “Someone anonymous gave some helpful tips that lead to the discovery of it all. He was found dead in his hotel room this morning.”

Laurent’s brow furrowed. “Did they say how?”

“Suicide, it looks like. Auguste says the investigators think that he caught wind of the fact that he was discovered. Laurent…” Damen’s eyes were soft with concern. “I’m so sorry. I know it must be hard to hear something so horrible. No one could have possibly expected this.”

Laurent rose from his chair and walked to the windows that spanned the length of one of their walls. He rested his hands against the glass and let it take his weight as he looked out over the city. He’d never deserved Damen, he knew, not with the shadow that was cast over his family tree. His entire life, he and Auguste had walked a path towards breaking away from it all. Some of it had been done for them by their mother, when she took them out of France and raised them in America. Some of it was Auguste’s protective nature, keeping reality from his door. The rest was a conscious choice, as soon as he’d realized a choice needed to be made. Laurent did not seek the origins of his wealth or accept the hands that offered him more. He stayed out of Europe. He met Damen, and let the goodness of his heart keep him grounded.

But Laurent had never been very good at being oblivious. He was far better at being ignored than ignoring what went on around him - a combination that made him privy to secrets he was never meant to be. The plans to kill his brother being one example.

“Did he say anything else?”

“Not much. They’re going to launch an investigation into his criminal history. The investigators apparently think that this could be one of the largest syndicate busts in the last ten years. They had all the evidence they needed handed to them on a silver platter.” Damen’s voice was contemplative. “You kind of have to admire the efficiency of it. I don’t think there’s a chance in hell that your uncle’s going to get away with any of this.”

Laurent traced a finger along the glass. Damen continued. “I can’t believe this is happening. Did you know they found a chessboard beside his body? And it was missing a piece, like some kind of Bond movie.” Damen paused. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be- Are you okay, Laurent? How are you taking this?”

Damen’s eyes tracked his movements as Laurent left the window and came to sit on his lap, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’m fine,” he promised. Then he smiled. “I was thinking… we should go somewhere. Greece, maybe? You can teach me how to sail.”

A frown threatened to appear on Damen’s face. Laurent soothed it by running his fingers through his lover’s hair. “Are you sure it’s the right time for that?”

“Yes. Right now, I’d like to be with you. No one else. What do you say, darling?”

He’d never deserved Damen, but he had him, and wanted more than anything to keep him. Damen was Laurent’s safe place, worlds away from the mess he’d been born into - something that Laurent would fiercely protect. “Let’s get away from this all,” he murmured in Damen’s ear, tilting his face up for a kiss. 

It did not take long for the subject of his uncle to be forgotten. Damen’s lips became heated, trailing down Laurent’s neck and chest and emptying his mind into bliss. His legs tangled around Damen’s waist as he picked him up and carried him into their bedroom. Laurent tucked his face into Damen’s neck, and sighed; when he held him close like this, Laurent could not think. He could not worry. He could not feel anything but sweetness, far from whatever might have harmed him, in another life. He was invincible. When Laurent exhaled into Damen’s skin, it felt like a release of all the sour things that had not come to pass.

***

Afterwards, Laurent wandered from his bed, looking like a post-coital vision dressed only in Damen’s shirt. They would go to Greece, Damen promised. It would be like the postcard he kept on the mantle of the living room: an image of sunny skies, white wine, and long days of sailing across the expanse of blue seas. Laurent held the picture in his hands and smiled. This happiness was his to keep forever _.  _ He placed the postcard back in its spot on the mantle, right next to a single chess piece. The King, stolen from checkmate.

\+ 

When he died, it was without fanfare. It was quiet. It was quick. It was a short end to a game that had spanned years, meriting no more attention than what it received.

Perhaps it should have been louder, more celebrated, more public. Perhaps if it was someone else who had given the order, it would have been. But in the end it was what both of them deserved. For one, it was a death without glory, a game lost, a body placed on the gates for all to see. It was an existence without the dignity of a name. An unmarked grave, and a name struck from all records.

For the other, it was an end to fighting.

Because that’s right, bitch. The Regent died in canon. Laurent won and now he gets to live the rest of his life happy, without the presence of that absolute motherfucking trashbag.

Eat shit, Regent. You got what was coming to ya.

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on tumblr @queenegeria


End file.
